


Meetamaa Daashu

by Hold_en



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Angst and Humor, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Water
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hold_en/pseuds/Hold_en
Summary: Hermione Granger is one final project away from receiving her Mastery credentials in Potions at the Salem Institute. All she needs is a project to seal her academic fate.The only problem is she needs Headmaster Snape's help and he isn't that fond of her.This is a shorter story that's been floating (pardon the pun) around in my head for a long while. I hope you enjoy it.  The title is Mermish for "Water Dancer"
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 20
Kudos: 40





	1. Cuua

Hermione’s stomach was sour with fear. A fear that Harry and Ron would have rolled their eyes at.

_Failure._

Failure was one of the worst things to Hermione Granger. Second only to death and that was due in part because she had so much she had to accomplish before she died.

She couldn’t fail. She’d worked so hard for this she simply couldn’t walk away. 

Seven years of post Hogwarts tuition.

Seven years of tireless dedication, of study, of experimenting, of paper writing had all led her to this moment.

If they took her on, in a year she would be a fully official Potions Mistress.

If they refused? Well, Hermione felt her chest tighten just at the silent suggestion. Even the abstract thought of failure was suffocating her as she stood in front of the panel of academics in front of her. The cauldron she had been working on was emptied and the stoppered phials were in each hand of the figures in front of her. Each was dressed in a black robe with a gold ribbon on each shoulder. A sign of their academic advancement.

They were upon a dais behind a large oak table so she had to crane her neck slightly to look up at them. It was almost reminiscent of the Great Hall with all her Professors at Hogwarts. But these were not the friendly faces of Sprout or McGonagall. These were a committee of elderly witches and wizards who were about to decide her academic fate.

They had her extensive parchment before them, duplicated and filled with all of Hermione’s past projects. There were seven of them. One for each continent.

Mistress Amare, a regal looking woman with chocolate skin sat in the middle of the group of seven, looking at Hermione with a severe look. Hermione tried not to frown under the older woman’s scrutiny.

“Very impressive, Miss Granger,” she finally said, her African accent thick and lyrical. “The presentation was well considered and perfectly executed.”

Relief coursed through her Hermione, making her body feel strangely heavy and light all at once. Hermione felt her legs give way and it took everything within her to sit rather than collapse into the chair provided for her.

“Thank you.”

Hermione felt her hands clasped on her lap growing clammy. In an effort to dry them she brushed the fringe from her eyes awkwardly and waited for the figures in front of her to continue. Master Zhang leaned forward, his long beard nearly touching the floor. 

“There is no questioning your talent,” Master Zhang said clacking his long yellowed nails on the wooden table before him. “You are heads above your peers.”

“And you’ve done some amazing updating of common potions,” Master Da Silva agreed with a vigorous nod almost dislodging his spectacles. “Your replacement of the sloth brain in the draught of the living death was inspired.”

“Indeed,” said Master Taylor with a barking laugh as he ran a hand through his waving hair. “It cut down boiling time by half! Incredible!”

“Not only that,” Master O’Sullivan said with a light Irish lilt as he adjusted his monocle. “But the effects upon waking were much more palatable!”

Hermione felt a pleased flush raise on her cheeks at the acknowledgement. She had worked for almost a year on perfecting that particular brew and it had paid off. Her listing in Potions Quarterly had been quite the coup.

“However...”

Hermione’s eyes snapped to the far left where a haggard wizard sat with folded hands. He hadn’t spoken much this evening, but Hermione knew of him well even without the American accent. It was Master Smith, infamous for his harsh treatment of female potioneers. It seemed even in the Wizarding World there were no breaks for women in the academics.

“To be a Mistress of Potions you need to come to us with something completely new, which is something you’ve struggled with in the past,” Smith said raising a bushy brow in the direction of his colleagues.

“Not always when the subject is so proficient,” Zhang insisted with a frown.

Hermione felt the panic begin to bubble in her chest. Hadn’t she heard this time and time again? She was brilliant, perfect in every way when it came to re-creating potions but she struggled with original thought. How many times had Snape said as such?

_Snape._ There was a figure she hadn’t thought of in ages.

She suddenly felt transported back into her first year classroom being verbally maligned by a man who thought her foolish. She was trying to keep track of the voices pinging back and forth in front of her from the agitated group of academics.

“The Salem Institute accepts only ten potioneers into our Mastery program,” Smith said as if they weren’t all perfectly aware. “And I know that if any of the other applicants came with such little creativity in their work they would be shown the door.”

“None have Miss Granger’s talent for the art of potion making,” Amare said flatly.

“Or her _history_ ,” Smith mused, shuffling the papers in front of him with a practised air of indifference.

The room went silent as his words settled over them.

Hermione felt a new flush, this time a red mottled look of humiliation creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. He was suggesting that because of her role in bringing down Voldemort that she was receiving preferential treatment. The thought pained her only because she was terrified that he was correct. Were they really only looking at her because of this?

She gripped the sides of her chair, forcing herself not to look as nervous as she felt.

“I have worked very hard to gain entrance into your Mastery program. Experimenting, writing, publishing and more. I have spent years understanding the basic elements and trying to rework currently produced potions to much success.” Hermione licked her lips, trying to steady her voice. “However if you have only brought me here under the perceived obligation of payback for the part I played in the war then I ask you to tell me at once and I’ll leave. I have no interest in advancement on reputation rather than skill.”

There. She’d said it. And if they turned her away so be it. She could still do much with her background in Potions. She wouldn’t be a Mistress of Potions but she did have the reputation for perfect replication and building upon the foundations of current potions. She would do well. But not as well as if she were a Mistress. 

“That is not the case,” Amare insisted.

“Not at all,” Taylor shook his head. “You are uncommonly talented in potion making.”

“But in order to be a true Master in any guild, you must show us that you can create,” Smith said resolutely. “And you’re not showing me anything that makes me think you’re up to the challenge.”

Master Smith had a lot of power over Hermione’s future. This had to be a unanimous decision on their behalf and if he was reluctant or worse, flat out refused, Hermione would be done for.

_Think. Think. Think._

“Perhaps we should take this to a vote-“ Zhang had begun, but stopped as Hermione jumped from her seat.

“Headmaster Snape,” Hermione croaked out, feeling as if she were searching blindly in the dark and clinging to the first thing that she could touch.

“Headmaster Snape?” De Silva asked confusedly.

“I have been in correspondence with Headmaster Snape at Hogwarts School,” Hermione continued. “He has agreed to oversee my current project. It is a project of my own devising and showcases the creativity my other projects have been lacking.”

“ _Severus_ Snape?” Amare asked, her eyebrows raising into her hairline.

Even Smith looked impressed at this. And it was no wonder; Severus Snape was not only known for his war hero status but for his potion making acumen. The man was a ridiculous talent and many of the books being printed included his original spells. To have Snape in her corner was more than a major coup.

There was the small issue that she hadn’t spoken to him since the end of the war, but Hermione was determined that this was a small hurdle she would overcome.

“This final project I assume is in its infancy,” Amare said softly. “But can you reveal any details at this time?”

_Fuck._

_What could she say? They needed something._

“Part of it,” Hermione hedged, not wishing to say much. “It involves the merpeople.”

The group lapsed into an awed silence at this. The Merpeople were still such an unknown to the wizarding world and Hermione well knew this. She only wished she had mentioned it before Snape’s name came ricocheting out of her mouth.

“It will involve a potion making connection with the mer-people more of a possibility,” Hermione continued.

“And _Severus Snape_ will be overseeing your research?” Zhang asked slowly.

Hermione gave a weak nod. Perhaps it wasn’t her project that intrigued them so much as the would-be-overseer. The group were sharing silent looks at one another until Master O’Sullivan looked over at Hermione warmly.

“Miss Granger, please step out into the corridor while we confer.”

Hermione rushed from the large room, her heart hammering in her throat. She stood breathing heavily against the oak door, still not believing that she had said something so stupid. The merpeople project had been a gamble. Something in the back of her mind, not a reality! And all because of a silly moment in her seventh year!

The door opened with a creak, a silent invitation for her to return. Only Smith remained upon the dais, looking at her with a most critical eye. Hermione’s stomach sank at the knowledge that all her work would be for noth-

“You have one year,” Smith said, standing with finality. “Impress me.”


	2. Correspondence

**_Dear Headmaster Snape,_ **

**_I am writing to follow up on the proposal outline I sent you several months ago regarding my Merpeople project. I have not heard back and so I wanted to ensure that my letter did not get misplaced during its flight._ **

**_As I also previously mentioned, having a wizard with your knowledge and experience would be a true help in my quest to attain my Mastery in Potioneering. As someone with equal passion for the subject I thought you may want to have some input on the subject._ **

**_Is it a possibility?_ **

**_With kindest regards,_ **

**_\- Hermione Granger_ **

_\---_

_No._

_Snape_

_\---_

**_Dear Headmaster Snape,_ **

****

**_I realize that I must not have explained the project to your satisfaction. I am therefore attaching several supporting documents that outline my proposal in more depth. Should you have any questions I am happy to explain further._ **

**_Waiting patiently,_ **

**_\- Hermione Granger_ **

_\---_

_Miss Granger,_

_I am well aware of what your proposal entails. The initial bloated twenty page document you sent here back in June was more than explanatory. I simply have no desire to oversee such a project on my grounds._

_Snape_

_\---_

**_Dear Headmaster,_ **

**_As the Headmaster of an education facility surely you must see that furthering the education of a former student is not only a duty but an opportunity for Hogwarts to be further praised. If my findings are correct, this is a monumental step in the direction of broaching peace between our world and that of the Merpeople._ **

**_Waiting eagerly,_ **

**_\- Hermione_ **

_\---_

_Miss Granger,  
_

_My answer is still no._

_Snape_

_\---_

****

**_Dear Snape,_ **

**_I was recently in Hogsmeade and ran into Rita Skeeter. Turns out she’s been aching for a new story involving everyone’s favorite antihero. She seemed quite keen on highlighting you for her next ‘Wizarding Bachelor” spotlight. I you like, I could put in a good word for you._ **

**_-Hermione_ **

_\---_

_Miss Granger,_

_Your thinly veiled threats are embarrassingly obvious . I suggest another tactic. Or giving up altogether.  
_

_Snape_

_p.s. She would never make it onto the grounds._

_\---_

**_Headmaster Snape,_ **

**_This project means so much to me. And while I could do it on another facility or even country, I have special reason to do it at Hogwarts. Not only would it look wonderful for your school, but it would actually mean something to the Wizarding World at large._ **

**_\- Hermione_ **

**_\---_ **

****

_Miss Granger,_

_My schedule is quite full and I cannot accommodate you. I wish you the best of luck on your endeavour.  
_

_Snape_

**_\---_ **

****

**_Headmaster,_ **

**_Professor Dumbledore managed to have your job and contribute to the downfall of Voldemort, so I believe your schedule could accommodate myself and my research. I have only five months remaining before I need to compile my research for testing and jury. Please reconsider.  
_ **

**_-Hermione_ **

_\---_

_Granger,_

_I am not to blame for your poor timekeeping._

_Snape_

_\---_

**_Snape,_ **

**_I will share publication rights with you, as well as royalties from any patent that may arise if this is successful._ **

**_\- Miss Hermione Granger_ **

_\---_

_Granger,_

_Four o’clock next Friday._

_Don’t be late._


	3. TRIGGER WARNING: DARK THEMES

Hello darling readers,

I know I haven't been as active and I apologize.

Life is a bit hard these days.

Money is tight.

My depressive episodes once short now lengthen into week long (or more) events where I can't leave bed.

Life feels black and white instead of its normal vivid hues.

My hands have a harder time typing. They feel heavy and clumsy.

My stories all seem rubbish and the characters I write are all dark and miserable. I feel I have no talent.

I start stories and cannot finish. Not out of lack of interest but out of lack of energy.

So much energy not to sink into the void. Like Devil's Snare I'm constantly trying to avoid.

"Relax," it whispers to me, cradling me as it constricts. "The more you fight, the harder it becomes. Give in.. Give in and you'll find freedom there."

On dark nights I consider it.

And then like a fire spell though a creeper, a new day dawns and I'm free. I can breathe again.

But just when I think I've been released, slowly the tendrils wrap around me and pull me back. Reminding me that I'm never truly free.

So my darling readers, please know that I'm still plugging away on my stories, but updates may be a bit slow.

If you write me and I don't answer as quickly or at all for a bit, please don't be bothered or upset. I always carry you with me like little torches in the darkness.

Always.


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